Chapter 412: Why didn’t he eliminate?
Time rewound to exactly eight o’clock in the morning. Warm sunlight poured through glass windows, falling upon rows of brown wooden benches. The towering arched ceiling hung with exquisitely crafted stained-glass chandeliers. Four sides consist of circularly arranged marble walls, with delicate stone rails shielding the central imperial throne. Milky-white stone steps spiraled upward, highlighting the sacred majesty and untouchable authority of the Empire’s Emperor.
This was the Royal Council Hall, known as the heart of the Empire, and also the private cabinet belonging to Hibbort Valeria.
Yet today, the ever-diligent Emperor seemed to be late. The throne, shimmering with jade-like luster, stood high and imposing, but completely empty.
Lucas sat slightly forward among the seats below, draped in a luxurious velvet robe. His blue eyes gazed toward the distant throne, dark ripples swirling within his pupils.
As the Emperor’s eldest son, Lucas during his stay in the capital had practically become a model of exemplary princely behavior, overseeing taxation and civil affairs, attending high-level political discussions, never shirking any responsibility.
He attended every weekly meeting punctually, and so did his rival, the second prince Alistair. Both sensed political shifts looming and were hurriedly their moves, visible and hidden alike.
Shifting his gaze from the throne, he shifted toward the golden-haired man sitting upright at the diagonally opposite side. Alistair sat among nobles dressed in ornate robes, his turquoise eyes also fixed on the throne ahead.
Sensing someone watching him, Alistair slightly turned his gaze. His hands folded neatly on the table, betraying not a flicker of emotion.
This was the Council Chamber. Even as princes, neither dared to form alliances or openly oppose each other here.
Minutes passed slowly. The wall clock’s minute hand quietly advanced to ten. Lucas listened to the creaking sound of the ticking hands, lightly tapping his fingers beneath the table.
Normally, Father should have already taken his seat by now, ready to discuss today’s political matters.
Could something unexpected have happened?
After a brief wait, a middle-aged man in a simple, ancient-style robe with tousled hair stepped before the dais, holding a stack of thin parchment sheets.
He was Roland, one of Hibbort’s right-hand men, the Grand Chancellor, second only to the Emperor in influence across the entire Council.
"It is truly regrettable. His Majesty, our acknowledged Emperor, is unwell today and unable to attend this weekly meeting."
"Today’s session will be co-chaired by myself and the Minister of Internal Affairs, Lord. Gregor."
The deep male voice spread like waves, echoing throughout the hall.
After several seconds of silence, whispers rustled through the chamber. Although individually quiet, the overlapping murmurs combined into an unmistakable background noise.
The next moment, Gregor stepped forward to the dais, standing with his back to the throne, and spoke softly.
"All council procedures remain unchanged. You may freely express your opinions in an orderly manner. Any votes involving opinion collection will later be personally adjudicated by His Majesty."
"Additionally, please observe meeting discipline."
In other words, even acting as proxies, Roland and Gregor had not been granted any of the exclusive powers reserved solely for the Emperor. They were only in charge of presiding and gathering opinions, participating in discussions merely as ministers.
As soon as Gregor finished speaking, the murmurs below instantly disappeared. Although the man was merely presiding in proxy, his authority derived from the Emperor’s explicit trust. In this gilded hall, imperial power meant everything.
Seeing the ministers fall silent, Gregor took a magic crystal from an attendant beside him and spoke softly.
"This crystal stores the recording magic circle, used to record today’s meeting content."
"After the meeting concluded, His Majesty will personally review the recording."
As magical energy rippled through the air, the crystal’s surface began to emit a gentle, lustrous glow. Grand Chancellor Roland promptly took over, gesturing for everyone to pick up the paper documents on their desks.
"Now, let us begin the first item of discussion."
"The rice collection tax bill regarding the Berg region..."
Alistair frowned upon hearing this, his blue eyes locking onto the circular beams of light falling upon the empty throne.
The Emperor hadn’t participated in person, instead relying on recordings and votes to handle state affairs.
This was completely unlike the iron-willed, hands-on ruler he knew.
Proxy hosting was temporarily delegating authority to trusted trusts. Although this wouldn’t affect the Emperor’s final decision-making power, it inevitably caused a minor dispersion of power.
A few isolated incidents wouldn’t matter, but over time, small leaks could accumulate into significant problems, something completely contradictory to the father he knew, a man who always clutched power tightly in his grasp, never allowing it to slip away.
"..."
Could it be... that his body had truly weakened to the point where he might collapse publicly, unable even to endure a single weekly meeting...
A whirlwind of thoughts surged through Alistair’s mind. He gradually tightened his grip on the table’s edge, realizing he should properly reevaluate earlier rumors.
Lifting his gaze toward Lucas, who also wore a stunned expression, under the dazzling sunlight, the man’s eyes held both shock and a flicker of joy, one only his younger brother could accurately detect.
Years of struggle were nearing their end. As the frontrunner with greater advantages, Lucas indeed had reason to be pleased.
Two hours later, the weekly meeting, tense and undercurrent-filled due to the Emperor’s absence, ended. Gregor carefully stored the magic crystal, exchanged a few quiet words with Grand Chancellor Roland, then withdrew to the Council Hall surrounded by attendants.
The Finance Minister Florence and Foreign Minister Edmund in the front rows were also packing up their documents, preparing to leave.
Since Astrid had a close relationship with Minister Florence’s daughter, Lydia, Lucas paused briefly before approaching Florence.
"Minister, your proposal regarding the rice collection tax earlier was exceptionally insightful."
Seeing it was the Crown Prince, Florence first offered a polite noble’s bow.
"Your Highness flatters me. It was merely a shallow interpretation."
After exchanging a few more remarks on politics, Lucas quickly shifted the topic to the Emperor.
"Father is unwell today. As his child, I haven’t yet paid him a visit, truly shameful of me."
Sensing the conversation turning sensitive, Florence finished packing and replied gently.
"Your Highness has been deeply involved in state affairs lately. It’s understood you haven’t had the time to attend to other matters. I’m sure His Majesty will understand your predicament."
"If you’re truly committed, perhaps find time to visit more often."
Lucas studied Florence for a moment, as if pondering his words. After a pause, he responded smoothly.
"I understand, Minister."
"Thank you for your guidance."
Hearing this, Florence quickly replied.
"It’s not guidance at all. I merely believe His Majesty would be delighted to see the Prince."
With that, the man added an excuse to leave, then stood and withdrew.
Watching the Finance Minister walk away, Lucas remains standing. Only after most nobles had left did he gaze toward the sunlit imperial throne, finally suppressing the slight upward curve of his lips. He turned and strode out of the Council Hall.
He could hardly wait to try how it felt to sit on that throne.
..................
The Third Princess’s quarters. Upon hearing the head maid’s report, Astrid lightly tapped the back of her hand, shifting from facing her desk directly to a sideways position angled toward the window.
"Were both princes present at the meeting today?"
"Reporting, Miss. Prince Lucas and Prince Alistair participated in the entire session, then personally headed to the imperial chambers to visit."
It was now 11:20, approaching lunchtime. This timing suggested they were likely preparing for a family banquet.
Astrid glanced at the bright sunlight outside the window and quickly abandoned any intention of getting involved.
Hearing of their father’s illness and immediately rushing to visit certainly demonstrated filial piety and concern. But since Hibbort had cited illness as the reason for missing the meeting, he might not currently be in condition to receive visitors.
Rather than attributing it to panicked concerns overriding noble etiquette, Astrid preferred a more strategic approach, acting after others, but arriving before them.
The weekly meeting was a routine but significant event. Although its content wasn’t publicly disclosed, it wasn’t entirely private either. Even without special attention, news of the Emperor’s absence would quickly spread throughout the noble circles.
In other words, this intelligence could be considered completely transparent.
"Amalia."
Softly calling the white-haired girl currently painting, Amalia set down her brush. After confirming her hands were free of paint, she quickly approached Astrid.
"Does Sister want me to speak?"
To Amalia prepared for future political maneuvering, Astrid never restricted her access to intelligence gathering and understanding. Sometimes, when discussing matters, this petite, elegant, and aloof girl indeed offered many unexpected insights.
Astrid nodded, motioning for her to sit on her lap.
"What do you think Father’s absence today signifies?"
She already had some ideas, but still wanted to hear Amalia’s opinion.
The girl in the white dress paused briefly in thought, adjusting her position comfortably in her sister’s arms before answering.
"Compared to collapsing during the meeting, choosing not to attend outright suggests a far more serious condition."
Many nobles already knew of Hibbort’s illness. His absence at such a critical juncture makes it difficult not to speculate.
"He made this decision for only two possible reasons: either his health is truly poor, leaving him no choice."
Amalia’s voice was clear and concise.
"Or he considered the signals such an action might send, and deliberately did it to mislead others’ attention, thus achieving some hidden objective."
As Emperor, so long as his mind remained sharp, Hibbort couldn’t possibly be unaware of the consequences of his absence.
Each time he disappeared from public view, the nobles’ suspicions about his failing health intensified. This was especially true given the sensitivity surrounding legislative decisions.
"And what does Amalia think it is?" Astrid asked again.
Having been present during the recent conversation with Lucas, and combining that with current events, Amalia should be able to draw some conclusions.
"..."
Meeting Astrid’s eyes, Amalia answered softly.
"I don’t truly know him. I only grasp a vague image from Sister’s occasional words and scattered bits of information."
"Therefore, I cannot make an accurate judgment."
Lucas and Astrid’s private meal made it difficult for Amalia to determine whether the intelligence about Imperial Guard movements was a smoke screen Hibbort had deliberately leaked, or a secret revealed only to the Crown Prince.
After all, Lucas was sometimes stupid in exactly the right way, revealing such vital information during a meal, making it easy for others to assume the intelligence was cheap and easily obtainable.
Combined with today’s absence, the idea that the Emperor, long suffering from illness, was now arranging his succession seemed like an undeniable fact.
Breathing in the fragrance from Amalia’s hair, Astrid gently supported the hem of her skirt, allowing the girl’s smooth, white-stockinged legs to wrap around her waist, and spoke softly.
"That’s sufficient. After all, the amount of information you can access is indeed limited."
The Crown Prince, that fool, was probably still basking in the joy of his imminent ascension, too distracted to consider anything else.
Mistaking Astrid’s comment about limited information to refer to her childhood seclusion in the castle and her personal lack of knowledge about Hibbort and Lucas, Amalia crossed her delicate, white-stockinged ankles behind Astrid’s waist, forming a cute cream-colored bow-like knot outside her black dress.
"And Sister?" Amalia asked.
Facing her younger sister’s question, Astrid didn’t keep her guessing.
"I lean more toward the second possibility."
In the currently altered storyline, there shouldn’t be any event affecting Hibbort’s health. Furthermore, given certain plot developments, including advancements in magical devices and the Empire’s enhanced prestige, the Emperor’s overall mood should be significantly better than in the original.
Thus, the likelihood of his health deteriorating prematurely was extremely slim. Hibbort releasing such information at this moment made his intentions quite intriguing.
"If someone knew the throne was about to be passed, who would be the most anxious?"
Without hesitation, Amalia answered.
"Alistair."
His political influence was too weak to compete with Lucas, and Hibbort’s arrangements clearly favored the eldest prince.
"So he’s trying to escalate the conflict?" Amalia murmured.
Hearing her sister’s words, Astrid fluttered her eyelashes, her tone gentle.
"That possibility cannot be ruled out."
"Moreover, I’ve actually had a suspicion all along, I just haven’t had the confidence to confirm it."
Stroking the girl’s soft, silky hair, Astrid parted her pink lips.
"Perhaps, we’ve long been within Father’s supervision."
The coincidences were too numerous for Astrid to ignore. Especially now, with Hibbort seemingly testing her, it only strengthens Astrid’s conviction.
"The Emperor’s waning strength affects not only Alistair, but us as well."
If Lucas truly ascended, both their factions would surely collapse. Beyond rebellion, they’d have no chance at all.
Hearing this, Amalia’s delicate brows slightly furrowed, her voice suddenly growing low.
"But Sister..."
"...if he knew, why hasn’t he eliminated me?"
She didn’t believe for a second that the cold, aloof the Emperor would allow a stain like her to compete for the throne, even if he doted on her sister.